


Gardener of the Human Order: EX++

by toharu



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:52:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toharu/pseuds/toharu
Summary: Just when they all thought Charisma couldn't get another power-creep.A bunch of one-shots cause that's all I know.





	1. You and I

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in so long it's almost physically difficult to write this so please forgive me. As always, please also forgive me for any atrocious spelling and grammar errors I may have overlooked in writing this!

_Ah, we're the same._

It's taboo almost. Forbidden in a way that was not damning or horrendous, just so seemingly impossible it _shouldn't_ happen. Yet, from the top of his tower — separated from time and space, hidden inside the four corners of paradise — those earth-shattering thoughts rose quietly into his mind. Though they were never fully realized, his attention fully enraptured in the laughable heartbreaking epic of humanities newest heroes.

It was quite a grandiose quest to embark on considering how utterly ordinary she was. She was entirely normal. From a normal family, of a normal background, with not a single instance in history of engaging in magecraft. Her magic circuits were only slightly developed over those of her fellow civilian counterparts just by chance alone with little knowledge of the world outside the small circle of her suburban town. Yet, in that same vein, she was a complete anomaly. She was useless as a mage, but was qualified as a master. That her body, a virgin to the touch of magic, was completely capable of biting into the fruit born from decades of research to meld magecraft and modern technology into one miracle: Reyshifting.

Drifting from era to era, taking up the burnt pages of their stories and piecing together a better ending from what remained, she was the linch pin to the shining hope that was all of Chaldea. And as eras corrected themselves, the name Chaldea would fade away from history; always a miracle but never a legend. 

His name had gone down in history and the stories he manipulated ultimately fell to tragedy, but he would look at her, with her face covered in dirt and shoulders tense in fear, and still he'd think:

 _We're a little alike_.

* * *

  "Hm…Hmm…"

It was convenient that there was no longer anyone else in the tower to be bothered by his incessant humming. He could mumble as much as he wanted to, tap his foot as loud as he wanted to, and there was nothing to threaten to round-house kick his face in annoyance. 

"This isn't very good," he muttered. "It's the beginning of the rising action but she doesn't seem to realize this…Well the singularities before this were pretty tame so maybe she wouldn't but…At this rate she could be in real danger. No, she was always in danger but —"

Passion, love, envy — all three were emotions that were too deep for him to realize in himself, a being without a complete and real heart of his own. But self-interest was instinctual. Pressing need that compelled his actions so in his youth he could only think  _I need to survive, I need purpose_ , and so declared himself a sage, performing outstanding and fearsome feats of magic to mold for himself a role that he could fill in the world he lived in. But now, so long as humanity exists, so too does he. When survival is no longer a shackle to his well being, instinctual concern then turns to stimulation — entertainment. A need to relieve boredom that would border the need for food and water. 

He wondered, vaguely, if this was a form of god-complex. Being so out-of-reach of mortality that the pressing issue of his instincts was keeping clear of boredom. That was why he fed himself on her adventures and that of all of Chaldea as if they were both his bread and his wine. 

"It would be a shame if you died here, Master of Chaldea."

For once he thought to thank the Beast so deceiving rechristened as Fou. His nasty skill to manifest independently was one he could exploit.

Just this once, only for a brief moment, would he step in. She wouldn't even get a good look at his face. He'll just make this one exception.

"Ah, but I am curious about this 'Presi-King.' Should I say it's a little disappointing I won't be able to speak to him?"

* * *

Words like  _just this once_  are cursed words and always have been throughout the fabric of time. He himself was fully realizing the chain of greed that starts with making a single exception. But this time, he justified, he wasn't acting directly. No. No he wouldn't physically step in himself. He was just sending a much needed aid, much needed guidance to correct a wrong that was what might have hypothetically been his fault to begin with. So it wasn't like anyone could say he had no right to interfere. In fact, he's sure at least several people out there in (what remained of) the world would have said he had a responsibility to get involved.

_But clearly, she isn't happy._

It's too sad, the fate he forced upon Bedivere. He can rationalize that from an outside perspective, but he himself isn't sure if he feels remorseful. Or, at least, not to the depth and extent as he should, being half human. He has studied many faces of sorrow, of expressions of varying degrees of despair, so he knows what the pull in her lips mean, the sinking in her eyes, the slant of her brows.

It's too pitiful. Too tragic. Likely far more than what he might have accounted for and, he feels he might have made a mistake in his considerations. 

He sees within the snowy fortress of Chaldea a woman whose hands have folded tight against each other, turning her knuckles white, then a man who can't bear to look at his monitor. Mash, who's barely lived ten years, can barely comprehend existing beyond a thousand in sorrow and regret. But she is still human, though artificial, and so her heart is complete and tears apart as her face contorts into one of tortured panic, unsure of what to do for him, her newest ally and confident. It's the face of helplessness. Of wanting to do something but the realizing  _ah, the opportunity has already passed. I'm too late_.

 _She_ is silent. All she can do is hold the steel hand of Airgetlám in her own, mourn the cold she feels, and think. There is something that they can still do. There's nothing to the present other than room and opportunity for something to be done and the trials of six singularities had begun to drive that into her. There is hope, but watching her, his instincts tell him to be cautious.

She's angry with him.

* * *

He knew she was angry with him, and she didn't know who he was until or what he had done until recently. 

"Are you the one who sent out Bedivere?" 

She repeats her question to him, and he can tell from the look in her eyes, the straight line of her back, and the placement of her shoulders that she is calm and confident. She had probably figured him out a long time ago and just needed him to say so himself. She was always like that. Distracted and haphazard, yet surprisingly diligent and astute — clever and holding good judgement, but ultimately needing the confirmation of others in order to move on. That was an area she needed to improve on if she ever wanted to stop relying on close calls and the help of others constantly. 

"Ah, so you're going there…" Right to the meat of things without cutting corners like a barbarian. But she was furious and righteous and her fierce bite was one he had expected. 

He is only half a man with half an ego, only able to analyze and replicate. And yet —

"That's a little painful—" and still, "no…quite painful for me. Yes, I was the one who sent Bedivere to the Holy City. The moment the Lion King rose, he arrived in Avalon…" 

He has always played the role of the reader, and speaking with her now feels as if he had jumped inside the pages of an epic. It doesn't feel quite real, yet he continued to stand atop a giant fortress wall against the chilly air, hours away from facing The End of the Humanity, speaking casually to her. Almost without his notice, he honors Cath Palug's request and speaks of himself. What he provides is the bare minimum of what he is, but it is more than he's shared with anyone he's ever encountered, the sole exception being Artoria herself, the young girl he raised. He's not sure why, but even if she scolds him, declares him trash, the biggest scumbag she's ever met despite him making a point specifically against being called a scumbag, he wants her to know just a little bit about him. 

He's a fan on hers, probably. 

* * *

He sits at the top of his tower, overlooking the undying garden and the vast shore. He looks past the whites, blues, pinks, and purples of his paradise for orange hair and gold eyes.

"Ah! Found you!"

A smile forms on his lips, glad his favorite story has developed a sequel.

"I'm rooting for you, Fujimaru Ritsuka."

* * *

 

Riding Rank: D (Passive)

Increases Quick performance by 4%

_Despite having traveled across across time, then across nations, and afterwards across the Realm of Imaginary Numbers and through forcibly altered realities, she doesn't have much talent for traveling by mounts. She had even practiced horseback riding after an incident once somewhere lost in history, and has gotten a lot better at it, but the rank of this skill remains very low._

 


	2. Like Father Like Daughter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The colors of the dying sun is something that attracts them both.

The situation was so amusing.

He watched them from across the room, red eyes trained on his little master as she bounces from servant to servant in her usual open manner. His eyes then shift to a the Grand Caster, or a candidate for Grand Caster, who acts very much like he's not interested in her scampering about. But in this form what he traded for in equal strength was wisdom, and he is very aware of the great mage's use of clairvoyance. Everything within the present is for his viewing. Without needing to turn his head an inch, without even needing to open his eyes, he can freely check in on their master whenever he pleased. 

As for himself, what was he if not Gilgamesh, the great King of Heroes turned wise King of Uruk? And what was Ritsuka Fujimaru if not both a member of his state and his laudable contractor? She was and remains a citizen of Uruk, under his rule — bound to submission under his will entitled a right to his protection. That relationship even now was very much unshaken, but it was a dynamic the two of them rode very well in wonderful balance. 

So then you could say he felt a responsibility to monitor the great mage with a terrible reputation for storytelling and womanizing.

And more amusing still were the characters that occasionally crossed into the scene of their little drama, namely a petite King of Knights who displayed a more openly protective behavior of their shared master than himself. A quiet, calm, and fragile exterior that belies an iron will and the roaring pride of a lion — those were the charms of Artoria Pendragon that had captured the attention of his archer-class self. He shares that attraction to a lesser extent, and so too does he share foggy memories of the holy grail wars he as the King of Heroes clashed with the King of Knights. They're memories he'd rather not share, and the worst of them feature flashes of orange and gold, burning like the setting sky, so much like their master. 

"Does it not bother you watching them?"

This is the first time Enkidu has put words to that question, but in truth they've asked it multiple times before in silent glances.

"Is there something to be bothered by?" Gilgamesh answers, looking now towards his oldest and closest companion. 

"Perhaps I may have misjudged, considering that the current you conceded a third of your treasury to Ishtar, but I never knew you to silently let something be taken from you." 

Gilgamesh's features tense at the notion as he scoffs at his friend, affronted by the idea and even more offended that his dear friend of all others would even put forth notion. But very quickly he finds the ire too tiresome to deal with and settles back down calmly in his seat.

"Whatever is mine that leaves me will return to me," he says. "Regardless, the strongest passion of her affections is not what I need of her nor does it seem to be something she's given to anyone at all. What I have of her is the core of what I want from her and has never left me yet."

Saying this, however, the wise king feels laughter build up in his chest. Before him he witnesses the the King of Knights prepare a seat next to her for her master to join, and beside each other they engage in affectionate conversation. They pick food off each others plates, Artoria offering to eat the foods the master doesn't like, though while chiding them on their picky eating habits. And through this, though Merlin is sitting across the room with his back toward them, the mage is humming satisfactorily in his seat, poking at a meal that, for him, is essentially a waste of Chaldea's resources. 

"Hm, but isn't this amusing, my friend?"

Enkidu redirects their gaze to follow his, at once knowing that they won't be able to understand the thoughts going on through their kings head, swamped with personal memories. Simply accepting, as companions occasionally should, the quirks of the king in practiced and wise agreement. It was easier to say they understood than to listen to Gilgamesh's long lecture on his thoughts and reasoning. And Gilgamesh's thoughts swirled with images of Artoria and a similar human who walked on that earth as if they were the very muse that inspired the sunset itself, eating together and putting a smile on her face that he himself has always failed to do in their meetings. 

Ritsuka lifts her fork and feeds Artoria a cut of her pork, laughing as the king accepts her offer with a gracious smile.

"They do say the apple does not fall far from the tree."

And, with practiced ease, arrives Enkidu's customary response:

"Of course."

* * *

Champion of the Grail: A (Passive)

Gain 5 critical stars per turn.

_Honestly...how many grails have you gotten your hands on? Isn't it a bit ridiculous? Even if you say they're just the lesser grails at this point the amount you got is enough to grant most wishes you know!_

_Huh...? You don't have that much? Paligenesis?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest whenever I feel like I have something against fanon I have the urge to write, even if it's not very good.


	3. I Adore You

It's an unfortunate occurrence that began the moment they met. Like a new extension of the curse he was already given. 

Honestly, he doesn't clearly remember it. His heart was pulverized and he was about to meet his untimely death at the hands of the nurse who was supposed to heal him. When they meet when his sense are shrouded in that haze of pain and, beyond his bravado and status as a Heroic Spirit, he can hardly tell colors apart. There's no real, solid resemblance between the two but he's been told by those who had watched that, when she reached out her hands to take one of his after seeing his condition, in a failing voice he had called her Sita. 

There is no way she is Sita. Even in a trick of the light that dyes her hair from orange to red, her eyes are still gold and glow all the more in the moments. As if the sun had sunk down in them as if she truly were a descendant of the great pharaoh Ozymandias like in the roles they so often love to fill. 

In the times they are all together, Artoria looks at her in a similar way. Deeper and perhaps more meaningful only because she is trying to remember something that is out of reach to her. It is impossible. Those memories and feelings belonged to a different time, a different version of her and, though they might all coalesce in the Throne of Heroes, she is still a different fraction of herself. It seems she tried not to dwell on it too much, because in this summoning she too has a right to the memories she creates and the happiness she obtains within Chaldea, and this summoning in Chaldea is something that will belong to her alone. 

In that light he's sure that most servants, though they are only fractions of a whole, feel fortunate that they are the piece to wind up here. It is an impossible, fleeting miracle made capable only when the forces are driven to such a dire point that Alaya lifts nearly all restraints. In this time and place they can achieve almost anything. He has done so already with all of Chaldea by his side. 

He saves Sita. Though it was only for a moment, though she gave up her existence for his, he had his opportunity to talk with her. It's not nearly enough as he truly wishes, still he is grateful because it is something he can't see himself achieving under any other circumstance. And through it all, he's found love in his heart for new comrades. He thinks fondly and in respect to the men who had lived and died following his orders in America. He cherishes the moments where he can speak casually with the staff when he can find them between their breaks. Though evil or good, he can trust the other servants with whom he is sent to battle with and he finds excitement and boyish joy in their trials and victories. He has love in his heart for nearly all of Chaldea, but especially so for Mash, Nightingale, and his master. 

Mash, who gently councils him in his yearning for Sita. Whose soft voice, gentle demeanor, and ultimate purity of character serve to ease and refresh him.

Nightingale who, even in her maddened state, pays particular attention to him to ensure his health and safety above others. Whose treatment with him tends to be more violent, but he knows because he's sure she is equally fond of him as well. 

Ritsuka, who perhaps is the most forgiving of him and the most understanding of his curse. Who is careful not to wear a ponytail around him because she's aware that at a glance her hair might mislead him. Who avoids wearing red in consideration of him. Who patiently listens to his constant (as he's told) pining for his wife. Who, in the many times where he's left a battle in little more than tatters, does not move her hand away when he holds it and is respectfully silent when he calls her Sita once again. Who doesn't accept his apologies afterwards because she doesn't believe an apology was ever warranted in the first place. 

 _"You adore her,"_ she tells him in those moments. _"You love her with your entire being."_

And thus she tells him she would never grudge him. She is only sorry that she is not her and that she can't bring her to him.

She is young and thus the weight of his love is lost to her, but he can see in her eyes that she tries to learn by watching him. To understand what it means, how it lives — this love for someone that extends beyond family and friend. He too wishes for the day she will understand the feeling of wanting to live life, share an existence, with someone else. It is something, though not all, of what he believes she deserves and he could only wish he could provide it for her somehow. 

He adores her as he does both his wife and his brother, and for her she says that is enough. 

For him it is impossible. 

So, though he is skeptical of the great mage's behavior, he has hope in him. He is one of the Grand Casters, after all. Less a symbol of his feats and more of a concept in and of itself. One that embodies dreams — hope. His wishes the Grand Caster would stop hitting on other women. That he'd stop being so vague when he spoke with the master. That he'd stop trying to push her towards other servants or staff. That he'd stop insisting that he is only interested in the stories she puts together. That he could see the way he looks at their master and piece together what that curious gleam might mean. 

"Rama!" 

His master comes running to him, panicked and exasperated. Her features look annoyed and already he could tell what the issue was.

"Hey there, Master. I can guess that Arjuna and Karna got into another fight?" Here he laughs at the sour turn of her expression. "Let us be on our way then, before they break anything important again."

 _Sita_ , _pray you forgive me and let me remain here a little longer. Until I can trust that man to look after her._

If he even can. Rama's well aware of his circumstance, being trapped in a tower in another dimension. In addition:

_Between Karan, Arjuna, and myself I'm sure we can protect her from anything, but when those two turn against each other, I'm really the only one who can keep her safe._

And, as he thinks this, he must knock a stray arrow of Arjuna's away. 

"You're smiling Rama. Is something funny?" Ritsuka asks.

"Nothing, Master. Actually I'm tired of them fighting all the time too. I just…I'm very content right now. Today as well is another glorious day."

He smiles down at her, his boyish grin that he's come to embrace wholeheartedly in this form by her side. He was a king, though not one now and he'll reap all of the blessings that come with that, which includes the smile she returns to him. One of the many new faces he's come to cherish. 

* * *

**Likes:**

_"What do I like? Making friends! Master, there will always be a time when you yourself are not enough and you will undoubtedly have to rely of the graces of others, so be sure to try and get along with them. That being said, it has gotten me into a lot of trouble…"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway I finished Agartha and it wasn't as bad as people kept making it out to be. Honestly I liked it more than Shinjuku. Also I love Fujimaru Ritsuka/Gudaz with all my heart and soul.


	4. Gentle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just went through the previous chapters and tried to correct mistakes and clarify some things. Hopefully they read better.
> 
> There's no real theme for this chapter. I just wanted to write cute people doing cute things and since I'm reading The Count of Monte Cristo right now I was inspired by the writing style in the book and wanted to try something similar. That said though I really just wrote something because I wanted to write like that so the ending isn't conclusive, really, I think.

Shopping was an exhausting endeavor, their small group having only just started their journey, yet she was already beginning to lag behind. Ahead of them Marie Antionette floated from store to store, the skirt of her casual summer dress flaring prettily around her as her eyes lit up at the wares displayed behind their clean glass windows. Chevalier d' Eon was less enraptured in excitement and was courteous enough content to watch their queen from a distance in order stay beside their master.

"Please bear with it, Master," they asked. "The queen has been planning for this day for a long time now. She's simply excited." 

Of course Ritsuka was always willing to entertain dear Marie, but she hadn't realize the kind of mental toll it took to constantly evaluate luxury goods, that toll being further compounded by the heat of the season.

"It must be white!" Marie exclaimed as her two companions rejoined her at the door of their destination.

"It is both suitable for the season and complimentary to your image! And what of the fabric? Should it be left plain of adorned with patterns? I'm afraid there's no time to request for embroidery, however I should have liked to order you a dress of such." 

How Marie, given their circumstances, came across enough money to which she can freely spend in order to afford her master a whole new summer wardrobe was beyond her. However the funds were provided, in the form of francs no less, and Marie seemed set on utilizing every last bit to produce their uptmost worth in quality and luxury.

"I shall ask them to prepare some swatches right away. Master, please rest here with d' Eon. The tailor should be out soon to take your measurements." 

And thus she went again swiftly to the seamstresses and, possessing all the world's charms, persuaded them to pause in their current tasks and begin building a portfolio of fabric swatches currently available to them matching Marie's recommendations. Seated at a beautiful small table, Ritsuka and d' Eon were served tea and snacks as courtesy of the salon. D' Eon, being a figure in the French, calmly reciprocated the gestures with smooth, practiced gratitude. In contrast Ritsuka was stiff in her seat, only able to stutter a thank you and accidentally knock the table. 

D' Eon chuckled softly at the sight of their master's reddening cheeks. They raised a hand, bare when so normally gloved in silk, to trace the line of her hair and brush her sunset forelocks behind her ear in a gesture meant to, and effectively, calm her. 

"There is no reason to hold yourself so tense, Master. All that is required of you today is for you enjoy yourself and trust the hands of France's tailors. The art of tailoring is lost to the modern world, so we are lucky to be able to come here, where the skill has been practiced and perfected."

"There's no issue of you or Marie being recognized?"

"None, Master. Be sure that we have chosen this time period with care."

D' Eon continued to comfort their master who, despite their efforts, remained vulnerable at the hands of polished brass, Italian marble, and hand-painted chinaware. Still D' Eon endeavored with easy conversation and the occasional hand atop hers. It is to this scene that Marie returns to them, in her hands a small leaflet containing her curated selection of swatches. 

"Master, won't you please browse with me?" Marie begs sweetly, and Ritsuka immediately, as if compelled, arranges her chair beside the queen. They look on together each leaf of the small book, Ritsuka feeding off the joy emanating from the queen as she comments on each swatch its pros and cons. She makes comments on linen, muslin, organza, and chiffon when she decides that, with their allotted means, they might as well make a dress with each. They came for a whole summer wardrobe, not just a dress or two. Though Ritsuka stresses on four only.

Marie, of course, tries for a moment to persuade her master otherwise only to be met with her firm decision. Not only to be easily dejected (in fact her positivity was as a fortress or even the walls of Camelot) she finds joy then in being able to select even higher quality cuts of the four fabrics she had spoken previously about. She insists on dyes and patterns and, upon calculating that they should have funds left over, plans trips to a hat maker, shoe maker, and jeweler all before dinner at a most beautiful and elaborate hotel. 

Though awkward and ill-situated in the society surrounding her, Ritsuka cannot deny the happiness welling within her. A light quality to her step and a fluttering in her chest born from the feeling of being utterly spoiled and attended to by the most endearing queen of France and her excellent knight. Marie is thorough and complete in her instructions to the tailors. As Ritsuka stands for her measurements to be taken, the queen carefully chooses forms that would assimilate well into modern times, providing instructions for alterations to be made to aid in that goal, and produces a selection of styles that displayed careful attention to her master's own tastes. The dresses, being only four in number and their silhouette simplified, allowed the queen to press the demand for their completion in a week's time. 

D' Eon, as well, acts with every intent to spoil her. Ritsuka is constantly walked on the arm of the knight. There is always a beautiful hand offered to her to aid her up and down flights of stairs. The door is always opened for her and, if need be, she is guided by a gentle and respectful hand on her back. D' Eon gives her nothing but kind words and flattery no matter what necklace or earring or bracelet or hat Marie might have her wear. If the shop attendant should offer something the knight found in anyway disagreeable, they would stand, pursue the selection for themselves, then select what they thought would be better. Topaz, citrine, rubies, and yellow diamonds are often referred to their group, but the knight ventures into selecting amethysts, sapphires, and pearls. They take the time to carefully arrange and rearrange their master's hair as they try hat after hat when they settle on a simple weave hate bearing a large brim with a black silk-satin ribbon. Ritsuka looses the battle for her right to carry the bags and boxes of purchased accessories. 

They, as Heroic Spirits, are summoned in their prime. D' Eon has vague memories of what becomes of them, their feelings a private mix of emotions they dare not sort. It is in this moment that they turn to smile at their master in their triumph. 

"As we are now," they begin to tell her in their soothing tone. "I am a knight of the White Lily and you my master. You are to me as you would French royalty. Given the circumstances surrounding Chaldea, you are often busy and I do not get to do this often…so please let me continue to devote myself to you. At least for today. Know that I am enjoying myself as I care for you as well." 

With that testament, Ritsuka is thoroughly defeated. However, surrounded by dazzling brilliance, her eyes don't miss the lingering gaze of Marie. Her usual gay expression replaced with one of melancholy at whatever it was that caught her attention through clean shop windows. At dinner Ritsuka takes an opportunity to try and question the queen on it, D' Eon having excused themselves briefly to arrange a carriage back to the apartment serving as their Reyshift point. However, before she could utter a word, a delicate finger presses gently to her lips. 

"I had guessed you might have noticed," she tells her, a soft smile on her lips. "As expected of so excellent a master. What happened is as thus: I saw, through a shop window, a set of diamonds in a large necklace. Ah, I see your expression. Then you have already guessed? That's right, it resembled the necklace whose affair threw me into utter disgrace. I became overcome with some emotion, but it is passed at that necklace is not the same as the one I am related with."

Concerned still, Ritsuka makes to utter the queens name, and again the queen stops her. 

"Forgive me for not allowing you to speak," Marie apologizes. "But it would be best not to speak that name here. The revolution has concluded but that name still incites slander." 

Her master's eyes, colored in the gaiety of daisies, swim in disappointment and sadness. She spares subtle glances to their surrounding, leaning in to her master with a playful smile to deceive possible onlookers that what they were witnessing was the regular gossip between young ladies of the era. She whispers quietly into her master's ear with a tone at once both sweet and vulnerable it immediately touches her heart. 

"Occasionally, like now and in privacy, it would bring me comfort if you would call me Antonia. When it is just you and I."

Their master is a most open and accepting person, permitting their faults and accommodating to them. This consideration, this plain and genuine respect she bestows upon them all is shown beautifully in the smile she returns to the queen, soft with all her affection and modesty. 

"If for your sake, Antonia."  

* * *

**Dislikes:**

_"Aggression. Or, rather, I hate being angry."_


End file.
